Light Gardening
by KeyKnows
Summary: Saitama wonders if there was any particular emotion that made him decide he wanted to keep the cactus. He can't remember. Warnings: Blood, depression, self-harm, unhealthy copping mechanism.


_Hello people~ This is taggged as slight au beacuse the timeline is a fucking train wreck so yeah_

 _I hope you like it!_

 _Thanks to 321liftoff for being an awesome beta!_

* * *

Light gardening

Saitama finishes the manga he's reading, puts it down, and realizes he's tired.

But he's not sure if he's tired of lying on his side for almost an hour, tired of taking every enemy he encounters with one punch, or maybe he's tired of living.

Either way he just rolls to lay on his back and stare blankly at the ceiling, like it holds an answer he's not actively looking for but would still cling to in case of finding.

The door to the balcony is open and the dry, hot air of summer scoots in, not helping a lot to make the heat more bearable. But in truth the weather is, just like his tiredness, nothing but a mild annoyance.

He stays there for a long time.

* * *

He doesn't remember when he got himself a cactus, but he's sure it was after moving here, since he didn't have any plants before. He's also sure he didn't buy it, he would remember spending money on such a petty, apparently useless thing.

The memory of how or when the cactus came to be has disappeared, in the same way many other things has vanished from his mind. It's not that he has bad memory, maybe it's just that the event was incredibly inconsequential.

Still, while he crouches in front of the small plant to water it, Saitama would like to remember; because there had to be a reason right? Why did he decide to get a cactus? And if he didn't decide it but the cactus was the result of some trivial accident, why keep it? What made him keep it and look up how to take care of a cactus?

He wonders silently, while making sure the water soaks the soil until it runs out of the draining holes of the pot, if there was any particular emotion that made him decide he wanted to keep the cactus.

He can't remember.

* * *

He's lying on his side watching TV, his head resting on his hand. The position has made his shoulder hurt a little, but he doesn't mind. It doesn't really _hurt_ , and it isn't even numb, it's just a lingering sensation that tells him that he probably should move: the task of moving seems absolutely colossal. Especially considering fall has just made its leave and winter has arrived with plans of making its stay pretty damn noticeable.

He's freezing over his futon, freezing under the dozen blankets that aren't working, freezing in the middle of his empty, dark apartment. The AC is turned off, he can't spare even the most minimum of expenses, he just doesn't have money, he's barely keeping himself alive with the cheapest food he can find.

Saitama thinks, while the TV shows a commercial about instant noodles, that anyone else in his situation would be doing anything but laying on the floor and watching TV. Anyone else would be worried sick about the whole thing, would be looking for a job, would be asking for loans, would be doing anything but what he's doing right now.

He would like to feel…something at the thought. He really would. He wishes he could have the motivation to even just get up and take another blanket from the wardrobe, but even that seems like a waste of time.

A lot of things seem to him like a waste of time and he wonders what he's saving it for, he doesn't do anything in particular with all the time he refuses to spare in apparently meaningless tasks. Yes, he beats monster and villains from time to time but even that doesn't take him that long, and it's not like he's actively looking for bad guys to stop.

Everything from making his own meals, to going to get a blanket, to worrying about the increasing bills, everything seems like it's just not worth it.

A shiver runs through his body and this time he moves, just a little, to bury himself further into the blankets. He closes his eyes cursing winter, even though the cold is nothing but an annoyance (he hasn't gotten sick since he got this strong and he doubts he will even catch a cold at this point), and thinks about how it should be to feel all those things he doesn't feel anymore.

He tries to remember, intently, how it was before. How he felt before becoming _this_ , how the bills used to worry him, how he always seemed busy, how he found joy in being a hero. There's nothing but a dull memory that doesn't reach his heart long enough to make it beat with such intensity again.

* * *

Winter gets even worse with the passing days. There's snow accumulating on his small balcony. He opens the door, shivers, curses the weather and takes the small cactus inside. He thinks about watering it, but remembers he isn't supposed to do it that often during the cold season so he just puts it beside the TV and lets it be.

* * *

Spring can't come fast enough, but it eventually arrives. The light gets into the apartment through the balcony window, making interesting shadows with everything that's lying on the floor, giving the place a warm, comfortable appearance. Saitama doesn't notice.

He comes home soaked in purple, sparking blood and drags himself to the shower. He goes through the motions of taking off his suit, lets it in the sink so the blood doesn't stain the floor even more, he turns on the shower and is faced with the cold reminder that he hasn't paid this month's electricity bill, so there's no hot water for him.

There are two options here: he could get out of the way of the merciless water, or he could stay there. Either option involves _things_ to be done. He closes his eyes and feels the water touch his skin with nothing similar to gentleness. He stays there, unmoving, until his body gets used to the cold water, it's just until then, when the water doesn't make him feel nothing but a small bother, that he starts to move.

* * *

He forgets to take the cactus out for two weeks. It is starting to look a little wilted. He thinks about watering it, but there's an immense roar shaking the building and by the time he comes back with a burned cape on his shoulders, the cactus doesn't cross his mind.

* * *

It happens on accident, by chance, a complete inconsequential event. The electricity bill is finally paid, the hum of whatever the TV is showing is his background music while he cooks.

The knife in his hand isn't even that sharp, but then again, it is _his_ hand holding it, so it makes sense that it can hurt him. Hurt him like none of the enemies he encounters does. He's chopping some vegetables, thinking absently about how he hasn't gotten the last issue of the manga he's currently reading when suddenly a sharp, slightly burning pain appears on his fingers. He looks down and he almost forgets about the food he will have to wash again when he sees blood.

Red, fresh blood flowing from his hand like it's the most natural thing in the world and it occurs to him that, _damn_ , it is the most natural thing in the world because he's human, he's alive and he should bleed when he's hurt.

Saitama hasn't been hurt in a long time.

He washes his hand looking at it like it holds an answer he's not actively looking for but would still cling to in case of finding. He feels like he has.

* * *

He goes to the balcony to absently put his clothes to dry when he catches a glimpse of the sorry sight his cactus has become, all alone and abandoned in the balcony. He can still save it, he decides, crouching beside it to check it up close.

He can still save it, he thinks, reaching for the watering can with his left hand: there are small, thin, still knitting wounds on his wrist.

Saitama can still save it.

* * *

The next time he goes to do some grocery shopping he comes back home with an unexpected item. While he's making line to pay for his things, he notices the woman in front of him is holding a pot with a 50% stamp on it, he asks where she got it and is point to one of the far aisles.

When he gets there is surprised to discover that the small supermarket actually has a section with gardening paraphernalia, it's a small section occupying only one shelf. He browses it and quickly finds the pots. There are only two left, and the 50% discount actually makes it a good deal. He decides to get one, and while he's there he eyes a watering can with elephant form and without putting much thought on it he takes it.

He pays, and when the cashier is giving him his bag he extends his left hand to take it and the girl doesn't make an effort to pretend she didn't see the scars on his wrist.

She locks her eyes with his and it looks like she wants to say something, but whatever it is it never makes it out his mouth. The awkward, tense moment passes when he thanks her and makes his leave surprisingly fast.

On the trip back home, he's hyperaware of the scars and he's walking unusually fast. When he finally arrives there's something like relief on his chest and he sighs, tasting for the first time in a long time the satisfaction and calmness that just being home brings.

He lays against the apartment door, grocery bag still in hand. The way the cashier looked at him, the way her lips parted in an attempt to talk, the way the struggle was obvious on her face, like something about him was very, very wrong and she wished to make it better.

Saitama decides he will ignore it. Simple as that, what does that girl know anyway? Way to make the customer want to come back, geez…

He puts away his groceries and then goes to put his cactus, that is slowly looking better, in its brand new pot.

* * *

There's blood all over the bathroom floor, it isn't really that much but it got mixed with spilled water and it expanded quickly, and he didn't really consider how much he could bleed from his thighs.

* * *

The cactus is looking better every day, it's happy in its new pot and a small flower is blooming on top of it.

* * *

He wears long sleeved t-shirts and hoodies when he goes out. The cashier at the supermarket eyes him weirdly every time he goes there. He pays her no mind.

* * *

By the time summer arrives the tiny flower on top of the cactus is in full bloom. Saitama has been taking it good care of it, he even got some pebbles to put them on top of the soil making the small plant look very lovely on its small pot.

The scars on his wrist and thighs aren't as lovely, but the sight of them, the _feeling_ of them, is as satisfactory as the blooming plant.

* * *

He comes back home from the doctor with a very strong antibiotic. It never occurred to him that he could catch an infection, that didn't seem like it, but apparently it was possible. The doctor, though very helpful and informative on the matter of the infection, had also been very annoying.

The man insisted on making conversation, he wanted to know exactly how the injury on his ankle came to be. 'It's a weird place to have such a deep cut' he had said, 'one could easily think it was intentional'. Saitama had shrugged it off, saying something about his job being dangerous. He trailed off. The doctor insisted anyway, but Saitama said he had things to do and practically ran away from there.

The doctor looked a little like the cashier, Saitama muses while boiling some water, less afraid to talk but the same look in his eyes, like something was just plain wrong. He didn't like it, there's nothing wrong with him, how could it be? He's a hero and he can take care of every enemy with one punch and that doesn't seem to bother him as much lately. Everything is fine.

Saitama can't bring himself to feel in the same way he did before, but at least life doesn't seem as dull as it did last summer so no, there's nothing wrong with him or in the way he deals with things, or in how the reason he's boiling water is to clean a razor blade.

The dry, hot air of summers scoots into the apartment, not helping much to make the heat more bearable. In the balcony, the drying clothes shake before the wind, and a small petal of the small flower on the small, lovely cactus, falls down.

There's absolutely nothing wrong.

* * *

By mid-summer there's blood all over the bathroom floor. He looks at it, dripping and falling over the cheap tile, each drop resonating strangely loud in the middle of his empty, silent apartment.

He looks at it, concentrates on the stinging pain that slightly pierces at the multiples wounds on his wrist that go on all the way up his arm.

He closes his eyes, concentrates on the strangely loud sound of leaking blood, concentrates on the so, so damn _subtle_ pain, takes a sharp breath, his nose making a slurping noise, and then Saitama has the unfortunately not so shocking realization that he feels nothing.

In the balcony, the flower on top the cactus is dead.

* * *

Summer is about to end, but it's making sure of having a grand exit, so the heat is almost unbearable at noon. Saitama has just woken up, in fact he has been oversleeping a lot these days, he's not quite sure why given that he doesn't really go to sleep late.

The balcony window is open but despite it, the apartment is painfully hot. He absently takes himself to the shower and while he's taking his pajamas off he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

A few years ago when he started training to become a hero and the results of all the physical work started showing up on his body, Saitama remembers he was proud of himself. As a salaryman he used to have a sedentary life, pretty much the same as now, so being in shape was out of the question and nothing really motivated him back then to work out. But then he started training and he saw and felt all the fruits of his effort and he was proud.

Now he looks at himself and his body is still very much in shape, more than just in shape actually, but he doesn't feel anything resembling pride. He feels something, and after doing some internal searching, looking for the memories of all the things he felt before, he can name what he feels but doesn't allow the word to form in his mind.

He can see clearly, _too_ clearly, all the scars and wounds that he has inflicted on himself, the ones that are fading away and are almost invisible, and the most recent ones that are bright and red.

There are a lot feelings trying to make their way out into his consciousness, but he decides he doesn't want to know what those are. He wanted to feel, to desperately feel…

He averts his eyes from the sight and enters the shower.

Saitama doesn't want to feel this.

* * *

Saitama doesn't want many things, and there are little that he wants. He wonders, as he goes through his day in the same mechanical way he did last summer, if what he wants is too much. Maybe it is, he muses, maybe it is too much to ask for. He wanted to be a hero, and then he wanted to stop the boredom, the dull daze in which his life had fallen, he wanted to feel and felt he and and then...

Maybe he is asking for too much.

He lays flat on his back over the floor, balcony window open, the TV on, its' sound bland and meaningless like his life. The ceiling doesn't have the answers he is now actively looking for, at least he knows now that the answer doesn't lay in the sharp edge of knife either. Now he thinks that maybe there's no answer.

He rolls to his side like he's running away from the thoughts, and now he's facing the balcony.

The bright day outside seems to mock his mood, but life itself seems to mock his existence with it's never ending surprises and turns, deeming him unworthy of experience them himself.

He sees the cactus, small and slightly wilted, resting in the balcony, feeding on the intense rays of the summer sun. He doesn't remember the last time he's watered it and for a moment that's the only thought that crosses his mind, but as he lets his eyes rest over it...he feels something.

Saitama has the impression that he would cry if he could, if life hadn't taken what made him human as punishment for asking as much as he did, he feels like he would cry at the sight of the small plant, at how it is still there fighting to survive in the miserable condition he has put it, trying to _live_. He would cry at himself, too. He would cry so much...

As things are he doesn't cry. And there's a part of him that is okay with no crying, that is okay with the idea of going to the bathroom, taking one of the razor blades he keeps there and trying to see if something happens again. There's a part of him that is okay with laying on the floor and never, _ever_ , getting up.

And yet there's another part of him, small and wilted like the cactus on the balcony, which is not okay with any of these ideas. A part of him that still _wants_.

He gets up slowly, almost methodically, and walks towards the balcony. He takes the watering can.

* * *

Life doesn't stop being bland, enemies still die with one punch, he's still broke and he actually doesn't stop using the razor blades, but he uses them less and even small victories are still victories.

He guesses it is okay, though he would like it to be more than just okay, but he doesn't want to risk asking for too much once more.

No flowers bloom again on top of the small cactus, but it doesn't wilt either. And he guesses that is okay, too.

* * *

And then, in a day that looks too much as all the other days he's lived, Genos comes to his life: like a godsend or a bad omen, or like a stray cat following him in the rain.

Saitama knows, the moment the cyborg shows up on his door with nothing but determination on his face, that Genos will leave eventually, that he will be out of his life. He has absolutely nothing to teach him and even if he had, he doubts now that he would share such knowledge with Genos: where has strength lead Saitama, anyway?

But Genos stays, and is pretty sure Saitama is going to teach him something, and even after he reveals the training that made him what he's today, even after seeing that Saitama himself doesn't know where his power comes from, even after that Genos stays.

He would be lying if he says he doesn't enjoy the cyborg's presence, if he pretends it hasn't made life less dull, if something isn't awakening deep inside him, something like emotion.

With living together in such a small space comes, inevitably, intimacy. At first is small things, like how the physical presence of the other doesn't bother Saitama as it did at the start, or how Genos is okay with Saitama drinking from his glass, or how it the cold nights Saitama unconsciously scoots, like a turtle with a blanket shell, closer to Genos' futon on the floor. And that, Saitama thinks, it's...it's more than okay. It's reassuring, to have the ever present whirring of Genos' machinery as background music even in the most absolute silence, and it's nice having Genos asking him what he wants for dinner or taking interest, if just momentary, for whatever manga Saitama is reading.

The companionship, the friendship (because Saitama refuses to think in their relationship as a teacher/disciple one) is more than just okay. He likes it, the way some of the holes in his existence are starting to get filled thanks to Genos, how getting up in the morning is not such a waste of time and energy anymore, how doing things starts to be worth the effort, again.

He doesn't want this to end, he wants this to last. And he's not a romantic, so he doesn't think of wanting it to last forever, he just wants it to _last_ ; but because he wants it he knows he's not allowed to have it, and it will end as all things does.

For now, the cactus in balcony is doing well and Saitama would like it to stay that way.

* * *

Genos notices things. The boy is not stupid, reckless maybe, overconfident sometimes, hot-blooded of course, but not stupid. And since he's not stupid he can tell something is _off_ about his teacher.

He doesn't ask him directly, which is weird considering how eager he always is for knowing more about his teacher. He doesn't ask when he catches Saitama glaring at the ceiling like he was hoping it would fall down on him, he doesn't protest when Saitama is determined of not getting out of the bed, and he doesn't ask when Saitama skips meals. Genos never says anything: not even when, after asking his teacher what the boiling water was for, Saitama stuttered and said it was for tea; not even when Saitama strokes his arm absently and pinches at his skin.

Saitama knows Genos notices all these things, and knows too that the cyborg obviously prefers to make no comment about them; probably because Genos, Saitama would need to be blind to don't see it, has his own demons to carry.

One day, however, a sunny day with a clear sky and cold wind, Genos does ask one question.

"Sensei," Genos says with a very serious voice "Why do you have a cactus?"

Saitama is watering the little plant, crouched beside it. The balcony door is open so Genos voice gets to him loud and clear, but he doesn't answer immediately. He looks briefly at Genos and notices he's holding his notebook and pen.

"I've read" Genos continues, taking his silence as indication to clarify "that is usual for warriors to take up habits such as gardening as a part of their training. Martial artists would usually practice _ikebana, shodo_ or tea ceremony; as I understand, to practice and to perfection these arts serves to cultivate skills that are, too, important as a warrior, such as—"

Saitama extends a hand with its palm at Genos to shut him up.

Genos is obviously waiting for him to drop one his supposed philosophical answers, like the ones Saitama says without paying much attention but are, in Genos' perspective, worthy of writing down. Saitama is kinda expecting it too, for something to get out his mouth like he doesn't mean it, make his educational act of the day and be over with it.

Nothing comes to his mind, so he stays silent again. The water is already flowing from the holes at the base of the pot, so he sets the watering can beside him, and sighs.

"I don't know." he finally says, looking at the small cactus in its small pot.

"You...you don't know?" Genos asks, confusion evident in his voice.

"Yup. I have no idea why I have a cactus."

Saitama gets up, closes the balcony door and enters the apartment, ready to drop the subject. He's not sure why, but Genos' inquiry makes him uneasy and he would rather not question himself his reason for having the cactus. It's just a plant, anyway, he doesn't really need a reason to have it, Genos is exaggerating things again, trying to find some mystic symbolism in every aspect of Saitama's life in order to explain his strength. Who cares, maybe he has the cactus because he wants—

No, it's not it, of course, because if that was the case, the plant would be long dead.

"Then..." Genos says, turning around to see Saitama "You don't have any particular reason to have a cactus?"

"Nope. Saitama sits at the table and takes the remote control.

Genos writes something on his notebook and then goes to the balcony. Saitama pretends he's not looking at him while Genos crouches in front of the cactus and watches it intently, probably running some scans on it. After some minutes the cyborg enters the apartment again and takes his previous seat, writing something on his notebook again.

Saitama is trying to concentrate on the TV when he hears Genos say:

"It looks like you have taken good care of it, sensei".

Saitama feels like the correct thing to do would be to tell Genos that, in tru, the poor plant has been on the brink of death way too many times to be healthy, or that he's just doing the minimum to keep it alive.

But then he turns to look at the cactus, and while he does Saitama notices how clean and nice the apartment looks and yes, that's mostly Genos' work but sometimes he helps too, and he thinks about how the kitchen isn't a mess anymore and how he has actually cooked decent meals lately and...

Saitama's eyes fall on the small cactus in its small pot.

And yes, maybe Genos' statement it's true, he has taken good care of it. He's trying his best.

* * *

It's kind of a surprise that it took so long for Genos to notice, or for him to decide to do something about it. Saitama is as discreet as he can be, but there's only so much one can do to be secretive when you live in such a small place.

Genos doesn't ask him directly about it. It's evening when the cyborg comes out of the bathroom and puts one of the razor blades in the middle of the table, with the utmost of care like it could cut the metal of his fingers.

Saitama puts down the manga he's reading and sits upright, knowing that this day would come. If it wasn't his obvious lack of teaching skill then this would be it. He knows, while looking at the sharp metal, that Genos will leave after this. He also knows Genos is waiting for some kind of explanation, but Saitama is not sure if he can give it. He would like to, though, to make easier for Genos to see how useless it is to try to learn something from him. What could someone like Saitama, someone that does _this_ , be able to teach him anyway?

He doesn't want Genos to go, but he knows he's not supposed to ask for too much, and having Genos in his life was already too much. He knew it was bound to happen.

He extends his left arm to Genos, slowly and without looking at it. The cyborg doesn't waste time to examine it, his eyes moving frenetically over it, his warm metallic hands exploring his skin. The scars aren't visible at first sight, and since he has been using his thighs there aren't any new marks, but the scars are impossible to miss upon such close inspection.

Genos lets go of his arm, and stays silent for what seems a like a lot of time. Saitama is ready for him to announce his leaving.

"Sensei..." Genos says, with his voice strangely fragile but his face full of his usual determination "May I throw these away?" he asks, soft and gentle but firm. He points at the razor blade and Saitama's eyes follow his motions until his gaze falls on the metal piece.

What a strange thing to say, Saitama thinks. What a strange thing to ask after learning this about him. The silence extends, the murmur of the TV shut down from its thickness, the whirring of Genos' body unable to break through it.

This is not what Saitama expected. This is not what he was preparing for, he's not ready for this, for the implications in Genos' simple request. He looks at the cyborg, between curious and skeptical, and is amazed at how, in his rigid posture and stiff expression, there's _so much emotion_.

What would Genos do if he says no, he wonders, would he leave then, seeing how hopeless he is? Would he be insistent about it as he always is?

Saitama doesn't really have the time to ponder all the possibilities his lack of assent would bring. He knows what to answer, because he knows what he really _wants,_ he has known for some time but only now that his eyes are locked with Genos', only now he feels strong enough to hold to that.

"Yeah." He says.

Genos doesn't sigh or relax his posture, but there's something in him that screams 'relieved' when he nods, takes the razor blade and goes to dispose of it and the others.

Saitama stays at the table watching Genos come and go out of the bathroom and listens to the unmistakable sound of something burning up.

He sighs, not knowing exactly what follows and not knowing exactly what he feels. His eyes wander through the apartment and inevitably he sees the cactus on the balcony, the reflection of the TV on the crystal door making it a little difficult to distinguish. He looks at it until the sound of Genos sitting across him catches his attention.

Genos has an unreadable expression on his face but Saitama guesses that he, too, doesn't really know what to do now.

After looking at him for some time, Saitama realizes what he's feeling at this very moment, what engulfs his heart while he looks at Genos.

Saitama smiles, a small and almost cautious smile, knowing that Genos is watching him intently, waiting for something. Looking him in the eye, with his small smile, Saitama says:

"Thank you, Genos."

And he's thankful, so very thankful that he feels like maybe he would cry if he could, for him, for Genos, for this opportunity that Genos is giving him, for all the things he hasn't cried over in a long time.

As things are he doesn't cry: the smile on Genos' face makes him feel like doing anything but want to cry.

* * *

 _Okay, there's a lot of things i would like to say about this so i'll try to be short about it._

 _When i saw the first episode of OPM and i saw Saitama talking about he didn't really feel a lot, it made me think of a certain time of my life when i, too, was full of nothing but apathy and i felt like a lot of things were not worthy, i honestly did nothing but sleep, like it was awful. But anyway, that was a long time ago. Because of this, i decide to write something about it and this thing came to life._

 _At first i wanted this to be fully integrated in canon, but as you can see i fucked up the timeline and i said whatever, not gonna fight it. This was also a different experience to write since, everytime i felt like i was about to finish this thing, i discovered there was more to say, is something that hasn't happen to me while writing fanfiction in a long time; i even thought about ending it like 4 scenes before the actual ending because i was afraid i was stretching it, but i really wanted to write the last scene with Genos, so theres that._

 _*sigh* well, i think i'll stop here, thanks for reading i hope you liked it!_


End file.
